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Tonadillas en estilo antiguo

Introduction

Granados’s Tonadillas en estilo antiguo were to a great extent inspired by the paintings of Goya—Granados was an excellent painter and owned some of Goya’s works. A tonadillo is a theatre song, originally accompanied by a small orchestra or a guitar, and in the eighteenth century tonadillas were frequently sung by a singer in costume between the acts of plays, as a sort of vocal intermezzo. The range of mood in these songs is varied: passionate, despairing, coy and teasing. Only one is written in the bass clef, and three were dedicated to the celebrated Catalan soprano Maria Barrientos (whose recording remains a benchmark). Composed in 1911–13, the tonadillas were written ‘in the old style’, and are a nostalgic evocation of the working-class neighbourhoods of nineteenth-century Madrid. The word majo (and its feminine maja) refers to the artisans living in such districts of Madrid as Lavapiés and the area around the church of San Antonio de la Florida—the word simply means ‘pretty’, except when it is applied, as in these songs, to the lower-class characters who lived in these places.

Recordings

A deeply seductive album of Spanish songs performed by the young Spanish soprano Sylvia Schwartz. This collection comprises works by Enrique Granados (1867–1916), Jesús Guridi (1886–1961), Joaquín Turina (1882–1949), Eduardo Toldrá (1895–1962) and ...» More

'Full of rare delights … this well-recorded disc is highly recommendable' (BBC Music Magazine)'Fink is one of the best singers I’ve encountered in some time, and she goes a long way to making this recording the most enjoyable anthology of Spani ...» More

La maja de Goya is introduced in the original version by a spoken monologue in which the singer, accompanied by the guitar-like music we hear here, recites a long poem about Goya’s amorous affair with the Duchess of Alba, which leads into her song about wishing to find someone to love her as Goya did.

My majo, they, say, is ugly. And maybe it is so, for love is an urge that blinds and bewilders. I have long since known that lovers are blind.

But though my majo is not a man who excels or dazzles with good looks, he is discreet and keeps the secret I confided to him, since I knew he was faithful.

What is the secret my majo kept? It would be indiscreet of me to tell. No little effort is required to discover the secrets between a majo and a woman. He was born in Lavapiés. Oh yes! He’s a majo, a real majo!

Of the twelve songs in the set we hear nine. The maja in El majo discreto admits that, though her man is ugly, he has other qualities including an ability to keep secrets. Her confidence in him is conveyed by a piano introduction of resolute octaves.

El tra-la-la y el punteado is unmistakably Spanish in flavour. ‘It is pointless, my majo, to go on talking, for some things I answer only in song’—and the piano, sounding for all the world like a guitar, echoes each of the ‘tra-la-la’ sections.

El majo tímido expresses the maja’s dissatisfaction with her majo’s shyness: he comes to her window but as soon as he sees her, he sighs and sets off down the street. ‘Lord, what a dithering fellow!’, she cries, and ends the song by saying that girls in love detest a silent window (‘¡Odian las enamoradas/las rejas calladas!’).

O cruel death! Why didst thou treacherously snatch away my majo from my desire? Without him I have no wish to live, for it is death, it is death to live thus!

It is not possible to feel greater pain: my heart is dissolved in tears. O God! Restore to me my love, for it is death, it is death to live thus!

English: Jacqueline Cockburn

The success of Goyescas encouraged Granados to turn it into an opera, with a libretto by the Valencian journalist and poet Fernando Periquet. His research into the history of the popular Spanish song inspired Granados to compose his own set of tonadillas, with texts by Periquet himself. La maja dolorosa is, exceptionally, a group of three linked songs from this set, a device that allows Granados to widen considerably the emotional and musical scope of the form. In the case of the music this is literally true—in the first song the singer’s dramatic outburst spans a full two octaves from top A flat to bottom G, the piano supporting her with equally widespread chords and mordant harmonies. Links between the songs are suggested by the way the postlude of No 1 is transformed into the gentler, more nostalgic accompaniment of No 2. This in its turn dwindles into the improvisatory guitar pizzicatos that underpin No 3, in a manner much closer to the other tonadillas in Granados’s collection. It is as though the maja, temporarily jolted out of her world by grief, gradually regains her natural environment as her own warmth of heart and consoling philosophy re-assert themselves.

La maja dolorosa is a small cycle of three songs, wonderfully expressive miniatures, laments of love that reveal the composer’s emotional depth and sensitivity. The songs are extraordinarily concentrated expressions of grief—unlike his contemporary Albéniz, Granados rarely indulged in brilliance and virtuosity. The first song seethes with anger and despair.

La maja dolorosa is a small cycle of three songs, wonderfully expressive miniatures, laments of love that reveal the composer’s emotional depth and sensitivity. The songs are extraordinarily concentrated expressions of grief—unlike his contemporary Albéniz, Granados rarely indulged in brilliance and virtuosity. The second song looks back romantically on passion once shared.

That loving majo who was my glory I remember with breathless happiness. He adored me ardently and loyally. My whole life I gave to him. And a thousand more I’d have given, if he had so wished: for when love is deep, torments are sweet. And when I remember my beloved majo, dreams of former days come flooding back.

Neither in Mentidero nor La Florida did a fine majo ever walk forth. Beneath his sombrero I saw his eyes fixed on me with all his soul; whoever they gazed on was filled with love for him. I have nowhere in the world seen so profound a gaze. And when I remember my beloved majo, dreams of former days come flooding back.

That loving majo who was my glory I remember with breathless happiness. He adored me ardently and loyally. My whole life I gave to him. And a thousand more I’d have given, if he had so wished: for when love is deep, torments are sweet. And when I remember my beloved majo, dreams of former days come flooding back.

Neither in Mentidero nor La Florida did a finer majo ever walk forth. Beneath his sombrero I saw his eyes fixed on me with all his soul; whoever they gazed on was filled with love for him. I have nowhere in the world seen so profound a gaze. And when I remember my beloved majo, dreams of former days come flooding back.

The third song recalls past happiness. The Mentidero was a small square in eighteenth-century Madrid—now the entrance to the Calle del Léon; and Florida was the district around the church of Antonio de la Florida in Madrid, where Goya painted in the cupola his frescos of the Miracle of Saint Anthony.